


flowers for the lady

by sterekfluffer (teampancakes)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 17:47:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11628687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teampancakes/pseuds/sterekfluffer
Summary: in which hermione's parents were not dentists, but florists, and hermione takes over their business after the war. all is well until the day draco malfoy shows up at the shop, as surprised to see her as she is to see him.[canon compliant up until before the prologue, more or less, but i last reread the series a long time ago and there might be gaps so pls forgive]





	flowers for the lady

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeWhoYouAre99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeWhoYouAre99/gifts).



> dear mish, 
> 
> for you, i would write a million fics about the otp i don't even ship (but have come to, at the very least, appreciate a little bit by now). happy birthday.
> 
> love always,  
> nuz.

When the little bell over the door rings, Hermione looks up from the flowerpot she’s been charming to get it to change colours according to the weather and stops mid-greeting with her mouth open and wand still pointing at the flowerpot, which is now flashing different colours of the rainbow and vibrating at an increasing speed.

The man in the doorway is half hidden in shadow because Hermione has yet to fix the lights on the wall above the gardenia display, but the slicked back, pale blond hair is as familiar as her own face in the mirror. To be fair, Draco looks just as surprised to see her as she is to see him. With a hand still on the door’s handle, he stops in his tracks, eyes a little wide.

“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione says, putting away her wand and crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn’t know how she feels, seeing him standing in her little flower shop. Either she feels nothing or she feels so much that it has all blurred out into white noise.

“Is this what you’re doing now?” Draco’s voice carries the hint of a sneer and Hermione feels her skin prickling in anger.

“That sounds borderline patronizing,” she replies, “and do you _really_ want to go there?”

His face turns apologetic, which shocks Hermione even more because she’s never seen anything but distaste, disgust or smugness in him. He steps in and shutting the door behind him, moves towards the counter. “No I mean, you’ve always been so bloody smart. I thought you might be doing something –” he trails off, not meeting her eyes.

“Something like what?” she asks dangerously. Her heart may be doing flips in her chest but from her cool gaze and firm stance, no one would be able to tell.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, forget I said anything.” Hermione hasn’t seen Draco in nearly five years but this Draco is not the one she knew back at Hogwarts. That Draco Malfoy would never have apologized and never would have cut himself off in the middle of an insult. Hell, he wouldn’t even have admitted she was smart. Hermione softens just a bit and asks him what flowers he would like.

“Would you like the blue and gold paper or the black and white paper?” She pauses with her hand hovering over the wrapping sheets. Draco has been wandering around the shop, looking at her magical and enchanted flowers with great interest. He turns around at her question.

“Um, blue and gold please. Thank you,” Draco says, “These are nice flowers,” he adds, pointing at a bunch of red tulips that she’d enchanted to sway softly even when there was no breeze.

“Thank you,” She allows him a small smile as she cuts the blue and gold sheet in half.

“It’s a great place you’ve got here,” he continues, sounding a little nervous. It’s strange – having a conversation with Draco Malfoy.

“Thanks. I’m taking over for my parents,” it slips out before she can think twice. Nobody but her close friends know why she’s running a flower shop instead of working for the ministry or something like that.

“Oh, did they retire?” Draco sounds genuinely interested, she’ll give him that, but she feels annoyed at herself and the dull pain that pools low in her stomach at every mention of her parents bubbles threateningly.

“No. Cash or credit card?” Her tone is now brusque and she doesn’t look at him as she rings up his bouquet.

“Um, cash. How much will it be?” Out of the corner of her eye she can see him reach into the pocket of his black pants for his wallet. She busies herself in tying the ribbon around the bouquet.

“Three pounds.” She jabs the buttons on the cash register a little harder than she usually does but of course, he doesn’t know that.

“Here you go.” She hands him the bouquet and wishes he would leave immediately because she doesn’t know what she’ll say if he lingers even a minute longer. He takes the bouquet and tucks his wallet back into his pants and straightens his tie a little, giving her a strange sort of smile.

“I hope she likes them,” he’s almost at the door when she says it and as he turns around, she mentally smacks herself. Astoria Greengrass married Draco Malfoy right after the war and nobody knew why. Hermione had never met Astoria but some part of her had always wondered who asked who and whether Draco had been in love with her or whether it was just a marriage of convenience.

“Well, she wouldn’t know, now, would she?” Draco says quietly with a sad sort of smile.

“What do you mean?” Hermione’s heart sinks a little as she realizes what he’s saying.

“These are for her grave.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry,” she covers her mouth with a hand and clenches her other fist, wishing she’d never said anything. Draco doesn’t look angry or upset. He just looks very tired. Suddenly Hermione is aware of how old he is and how much the war broke him.

“It’s okay,” he says, shrugging slightly.

“I didn’t know,” Hermione says, her hands falling to her sides. She shuffles her feet and feels awkward.

“I know. It’s okay, really,” Draco repeats, looking at her sincerely so she knows he means it. Hermione feels something dissolve in her at the look and before she can stop herself, she’s telling him something she never even imagined she would tell him.

“My parents. They didn’t retire.”

“Oh.”

She knots her fingers together tightly. “I wiped their memories before it all started. To help them forget about me so that I could do what we needed to do to take him down without them worrying about what would happen to me.”

“Oh,” Draco says again as she bites her lip to stop herself from explaining further.

“I don’t know why I just told you this,” she laughs a little, trying to turn the conversation back into a casual one as he walks back to the counter. Her hand is now on top of it, playing with the little basket of gift cards that she keeps for her customers to write messages on. He stops right in front of her and covers her hand with his own. Hermione feels her heart leap into her throat as his thumb moves a little over the edge of her wrist. She looks up to find him looking at her intensely.

“Wherever they are, whatever they’re doing, I’m sure they would have been very proud,” he tells her slowly, letting each word sink in with a startling sincerity that she has never seen before in him.

She swallows and nods. “Thank you.”

Draco tilts his head in reply and removes his hand from hers after patting it once. She briefly closes her eyes as he walks towards the door again.

“I’ll see you around?” he asks, turning to look at her over his shoulder as he leaves.

“Yeah, of course,” Hermione replies, her knees feeling weak. He smiles at her and the bell tinkles again as the door shuts behind him.

*

She looks up every time the bell rings after that day and hates herself a little for it. He did say he’d see her around but she has no idea what that meant. London is a big city and they hadn’t exchanged numbers or anything. Of course, Juniper would hunt him down in a heartbeat if she tied a letter addressed to him around the owl’s leg, but she didn’t want to take a step as huge as that.

“Hello,” his voice interrupts her thoughts and she looks up from her phone (it was a slow day!), amused. Of course, the one time she hadn’t looked up at the bell was the time it was him.

“Hi,” she replies, putting away her phone in her apron’s pocket and standing up. He pulls off his gloves and looks up at her with warm eyes – she’d never thought she’d ever describe his eyes as _warm_ of all adjectives but there was no denying it. This was not the Draco Malfoy she had known.

“Um, some lilies, please?” He sounds just a tiny bit nervous, which does nothing to help Hermione’s somersaulting heart.

“Oh, right. Yes. Um, just a minute,” she babbles as she turns away from him and towards the display of lilies. Behind her, he clears his throat quietly.

“Hermione,” he starts, his voice slightly wavering at the last syllable. She whirls around, a bunch of lilies in her hands.

“Yes?”

He stares at her for a minute, as if collecting his words and then – “I’m sorry.”

“About what?” she asks, setting the lilies down on the counter and resisting the urge to push more.

“Everything,” he takes a step towards her.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that,” she folds her arms and narrows her eyes.

“Hogwarts. All of it. The Death Eater job, working for him, everything,” he sounds earnest, she will give him that much.

“It’s okay, Draco,” she sighs, reaching for the wire and the tape. Her fingers fly over the stalks as she trims them and ties them in place.

“It’s not though. I remember that day with you in Hogsmede in our last year. When I look back now, it was the one day during all of my Hogwarts years that I actually liked.”

“Oh,” Hermione’s hands still. Draco’s at the counter now, just like he was before. He doesn’t hold her hand this time, though. She swallows. “We were pretty drunk though.”

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” he says softly, putting his hands up on the counter top too, just inches away from hers. She resists the urge to look down at just how much distance there is between them and thinks back to that day. How everything had been too bright and too much but how Draco had been there. His arms around her waist, forbidden and his face at her neck, alluring and making her body do strange things. But with those memories comes the memory of every other time she’d seen him in Hogwarts. The slap, the filthy word falling from his lips every time he saw her, the constant insults and making her feel she wasn’t good enough.

“Well, it was a long time ago,” she steps back suddenly, clearing her throat and focusing on wrapping up his lilies. “There’s just too much history. Too many hurt feelings and too many old wounds.”

“I know,” he steps back too, taking out his wallet.

“What do you want from me, Draco?” Hermione asks a little angrily.

Draco looks at her, expressionless. “I don’t know.” Hermione feels her entire body grow cold and she pushes his flowers at him.

“Well, here are your lilies. That’ll be one and a half pounds.”

“Um, yes. Of course,” he hands her the bills, takes his bouquet and turns away. Hermione doesn’t look up to see if he looks back.

*

She’s going through that day’s paper when he walks in nearly a month later. Narrowing her eyes at him, she doesn’t say anything until he walks straight up to the counter and places a disposable coffee cup in front of her.

“What’s that?” Hermione asks, eyeing it suspiciously.

“I believe it’s called coffee,” Draco replies, pushing it another inch towards her.

“Why is it in front of me?” She goes back to flipping the pages of her paper.

“It’s for you.”

“I had some in the morning,” she says dismissively. She feels like she’s not being fair but it’s been a month and that month has done nothing to soothe her raging emotions regarding a certain blond man with a smirk a mile wide.

It’s the same smirk he’s putting on right now when he says, “You can never have enough coffee.”

She folds up her paper and ignores the smirk. “I don’t want to be bouncing off the walls come two p.m.”

“It’s a skinny vanilla latte with an extra shot of caramel,” Draco pulls out all stops as he jiggles the cup tantalizingly in front of her. She looks at it and frowns.

“You remember?”

“Of course I do,”  he shoots back, grinning as she finally takes the cup from him and takes a sip to stop him from seeing the smile spreading outrageously over her face.

“Thanks,” she says, fiddling with the label on the cup. “Now, did you need some flowers or did you just stop by to give me this?”

“Um, yes. I’d like a small bouquet of roses,’ he tells her, “Nothing too fancy, just simple red ones will do.”

“Oh,” she pauses mid-sip. “Roses?”

“Roses,” he nods.

She sets the cup down on the counter with a heavy heart and rubs her hands together just to have something to do with them. “Of course. Just a minute.”

Hermione’s not disappointed. She’s not. And she knows if she tells herself that long enough, she’ll believe it. Truth is, even though she had been dismissive of his coffee-gift, she had felt like it was the start of something. But roses mean something different. Roses are not good news. She thinks maybe she hates roses.

Suddenly Ron comes out of the backroom, wiping his hands on the bottom of his sweater. His nose has a spot of grease on it and his hair is all over the place. He stops short when he spots Draco.

“Malfoy,” he greets, his voice cold. There is little forgiveness between the two.

“Weasley,” Draco returns with a small nod of acknowledgement.

“What are you doing here?” Ron asks pointedly and Hermione notices his hand reach into his pocket slowly, for his wand.

“I believe I’m buying some flowers, considering this is a florist,” Draco’s hand is also inching towards his wand and Hermione’s had enough.

“Boys. Behave,” she snaps, waving her own wand between the two threateningly.

Ron twists his nose in distaste and steps away from Draco. “It’s okay, I was just leaving anyway,” he says as he grabs a coat from a nearby chair. Turning to Hermione, he gives a slight nod towards the backroom from which he had emerged. “I fixed the fridge. You shouldn’t have any trouble now.”

“Thank you, Ron,” Hermione says as he leans in for a one-armed hug. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Draco suppressing a glare. It makes her smirk. “I’ll see you later tonight, yeah?” she asks Ron as he’s leaving.

“Yes, of course,” he replies, smiling at her and then, with a last glare shot in Draco’s direction, Ron leaves the shop. Hermione clears her throat and finishes tying the ribbon on the bouquet.

“Here you go. One small bouquet of roses.”

Draco doesn’t say a word for a whole minute. Then – “So, um, you and Weasley? Still?”

“Yes,” says Hermione a little defensively, even though it’s not true; hasn’t been true for nearly two years now.

“Oh,” Draco’s face falls minutely and Hermione starts to second-guess herself. Should she really have said that? Oh well, it was done now.

“Thanks for the coffee,” she tries, picking it up to take another sip.

Draco just nods, reaching for his wallet. “Yeah, no problem. Um, you accept credit cards, right?”

“Yes. Thank you,” her voice is borderline desperate but he leaves without saying anything else.

*

“What was Malfoy doing up at your place today?” Ron is opening a bottle of wine he’d brought and Hermione holds out her glass for him to fill. God knows she’ll need some tonight.

Rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers, she takes a sip, sighs and then tilts her head  towards Ron. “He was getting flowers.”

Ron pours himself a glass too and sets the bottle on the table. “For?” he asks conversationally, looking at her over the top of his glass.

“Well, they were roses so I’m assuming girlfriend,” She feels annoyed for some reason. Putting her glass down, she picks up her oven gloves and puts them on so that she can check on the chicken. A delicious aroma of lemon, rosemary and basil floods the tiny kitchen as she opens the door. Behind her, Ron’s stomach grumbles, making Hermione chuckle.

“Didn’t Astoria pass away only just a few months ago?” Ron presses.

Hermione turns around with a sardonic smile. “You’re one to talk,” she says. They both know what she’s referring to. It had just been three months after they split up when Luna had called up Hermione to tell her Ron had had dinner with a woman other than her last night and did she know about it?

“We got divorced. His wife died.” Ron sounds defensive and it makes Hermione sigh and lean against the kitchen counter, rubbing her temples again.

“Well, it’s none of our business in any case,” she says, suddenly tired of Draco Malfoy and his love life. Ron was the last person she wanted to discuss it with.

He must’ve sensed that she was done with the subject because he set his glass down and came over to her, taking her by the shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he gives her a hug and then steps away with a smile. “He’s always been a git though.”

Hermione laughs and sweeps the hair off her face, tucking it back into her bun. “Harry and Ginny should be here any second. Are you gonna go get the potatoes or shall I?”

“Yeah, I will,” Ron replies, turning towards the stove and reaching for its knob.

“Oh and um, Ron?” Hermione swallows.

“Yeah?”

“I kinda insinuated you and I were still together, so. Just a heads up,” she says all of this very fast and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“You insinuated this to Malfoy?” Ron is incredulous.

“Yeah. Did you set out the cutlery?” she asks, even though she can see the knives and spoons laid out on the table in front of her.

“Why on earth would you do that?” There’s something in his voice that alarms Hermione, so she looks up, eyes wide.

“No, no, Ron,” she steps up, placing a hand on his arm and looking at him earnestly. “It was nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. I just did it – I don’t know why. But it certainly doesn’t mean anything.”

“Hermione,” his face has gone soft and in her mind, something shifts and suddenly all of their time together is replayed for her. She shuts off the tape and shakes her head.

“I’m serious, Ron. Please,” she tells him firmly. Ron nods and she lets out a small, inaudible sigh of relief.

Later, after dinner and drinks, when Harry and Ginny have left and only Ron is left, he pauses in the middle of washing the dishes and turns around to look at her, sitting on the table, finishing off some leftover pie. “Hey?”

“Yeah?” She looks up, tired but happy after a night off with her best friends.

“I’m sorry we never worked out,” Ron tells her quietly. She gives him a small smile and raises a forkful of cherry pie towards him.

“Me too,” she replies. He smiles back and returns to the dishes and she stares at his back fondly. They might never have worked out romantically but she’s so glad they’re still friends.

*

He comes in again two weeks later, sauntering through the door with his hands in his pockets and his white shirt open at the collar, no tie. Hermione’s wearing her oldest work apron, the one with a million holes in it, and she’s just finished repotting mandrakes and feels muddy and grimy all over, which is not a state she wants to receive Draco Malfoy in.

“I have a question for you,” is the first thing he says as he ambles over to her and leans against the counter with one arm placed on its top, the other still in his pocket.

“Oh. Is it about flowers?” Hermione all but snaps, suddenly hyper-aware of how there was dirt literally everywhere on her. Under her nails, in her hair, on her apron – probably even on her face and neck.

“No, it’s about why Weasley is walking around town with a blonde chick on his arm when apparently you two are together?” His smile is smug and at that moment, she hates him a little bit.

“That’s not a question about flowers,” she replies, wiping her hands on a towel behind the counter and reaching back to pull her hair off her face and into a tighter bun. With her wand she cleans up the repotting station and the pots neatly stack themselves in a corner.

“I never said it would be,” Draco raises an eyebrow. Hermione resists the urge to hex him.

“We’re divorced,” she says shortly because she might as well tell him, now that he’s put her on the spot.

“Oh, so that day when he was fixing your fridge? Were you divorced then?” His smile is growing wider and wider.

 “I don’t see why this is any of your business,” she finally looks up, glaring at him. He seems to be enjoying it thoroughly.

“I don’t get why you lied,” Draco puts on a mock-horrified expression and now she _really_ wants to hex him. Her fingers itch for her wand and spells run through her mind.

“Do you want some flowers or are you just here to ask me questions? Because I do have better things to do, you know.”

He schools his expression into something more contrite. “Roses.”

Hermione feels frustrated. “Roses?” she repeats questioningly, as if that will bring forth an explanation perhaps.

“Yes,” Draco nods, tapping his fingers rhythmically on the countertop. Hermione narrows her eyes and turns away towards the little cooler where she keeps them.

“Some would say your choice of flowers shouldn’t exactly permit you to inquire into another woman’s personal business,” it’s easier to say when she’s not looking at him.

“Some would say not everything is what it seems,” Draco returns, pausing mid-tap to give her a strange smile.

Hermione twists the ribbon into place and accepts the credit card he hands her. “Cryptic.”

“Thanks for the discount,” he says, looking down at the receipt she’s just handed him. Hermione raises an eyebrow.

“I didn’t give you a discount.”

Draco looks up with a grin. “Oh, you think I didn’t notice that the woman before me spent twice as much on a similar sized bouquet?”

It’s Hermione’s turn to grin. “She bought ordinary gardenias which you can find almost anywhere. You’re getting high-quality roses which have been hand-nurtured in a home garden,” she tells Draco sweetly, handing him the bouquet and feeling smug as Draco’s smirk is wiped off his face. “You always did have a big ego,” she calls after him as he leaves with a loud huff.

*

She’s busy ordering from the monthly catalogue when something’s placed in front of her. She’d been so engrossed in marking down the flowers she wants and looking up prices, it startles her. Looking up, she sees another disposable coffee cup with her name on it.

“Coffee again?” she sighs, closing her catalogue and leaning back in her chair to look up at him.

“I thought you could use some,” he shrugs, sipping at his own cup.

“And why would you think that?” she crosses her arms, thanking god that she’d somehow thought of wearing her good blouse today – the floral one with the ruffles in the front.

“Because I can tell by the little wrinkles on your forehead that it’s been a hard day?” Draco ventures, looking at her questioningly.

“Oh and you saw these wrinkles when?” Hermione counters, supressing a laugh.

“Doesn’t matter. Are you going to take it or not?” He looks at the cup pointedly. “It’s getting warm.”

“Oh, an iced latte?” Hermione asks, picking it up finally. Draco nods. “Thanks,” she tells him, taking a grateful sip. It’s very hot and this is a welcome distraction. Getting up from her chair she stacks up her catalogues and puts them back in her drawer. They can wait. “Are you here for flowers?” she throws over her shoulder at him because he hasn’t said anything and the silence is growing slightly awkward.

 “Why’s that always the first thing you ask me?” he complains.

“Because I am a florist and this is my shop, after all,” she replies matter-of-factly. “What kind of an owner would I be if I didn’t ask my customers if they wanted flowers?”

“Ro –” he starts but she cuts him off.

“The usual. I see.”

“Yes.”

She knows she’s entering dangerous territory but it’s been weeks and she’s feeling frustrated by his half-arsed advances. “You buy roses quite often.” Also she really wants to know why he insists on flirting if he’s going to end up leaving her shop with a bunch of roses that are certainly not for her.

“I do, don’t I?” Hermione doesn’t know if she’s just imagining it or not but she could swear his voice drops an octave lower.

“Any particular reason?” she presses on, carefully wrapping up the flowers in the blue and gold paper he always asks for.

“Do you often ask your customers that?” he drains the last of his coffee and looks around for a trash can.

“Sometimes, yes,” Hermione replies, reaching for the basket of ribbons and pulling out a shimmery one. His eyes trace her every movement and he steps a little closer, looking over her shoulder as she ties it on.

“My boss. She sends me out to get some for her girlfriend. They’re not for me,” he says, and she _wasn’t_ imagining anything because this voice is silky smooth and definitely deeper than it was when he entered with her coffee. As for the flowers – they’re for his boss’s girlfriend? Hermione wants to laugh in relief.

“Oh,” she lets out, turning around to find that he’s almost in her space, looming over her with the mere five inches he has on her.

“Surprised?” he asks teasingly.

Hermione wrinkles her nose. “Why would I be?” She holds out his flowers and his gaze drops to them before flicking back up to her face. Hermione is aware of just how close he is. If she moved forward just an inch and leaned up, they could be kissing.

“I think we both know what you thought the roses meant,” he whispers, taking the bouquet from her and letting his fingers brush against hers.

She swallows and then pushes past him to the cash register. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

“But you did think it though,” Draco resumes speaking normally. He walks over too and hands her his card. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

Hermione chooses to ignore that. “That’ll be two and a half pounds. Thank you for the coffee.”

“No problem,” Draco smiles, taking the receipt and turning to leave. Their conversation might have been over, Hermione thinks, biting down on her lip, but somehow it just felt like a beginning.

*

There’s a Flower Festival up in the countryside and Hermione RSVPs gladly. It’s been a hard few weeks at work, what with her coolers breaking down regularly (she really must perfect that Unbreakable Charm for mass use) and the flowers wilting before they even got to the customers. The thing with Draco wasn’t helping either. She was attracted to him (had been for a really long time, but had mostly supressed the memories) and he was also probably attracted to her given their flirtatious banter every time he entered her shop.

She sits on the train on her way back to London, looking out of the window pensively. The convention had been a nice break and she’d met a great supplier who would cut back on her costs by twelve and half percent, but she was still feeling antsy. She’d left the shop in charge of Luna and she can’t help but wonder whether Draco had come in during that time.

Her phone buzzes with a text and she picks it up to check.

_I don’t really see what the problem is. You’re single, he’s single – make a move!_

Hermione smiles at Ginny’s simple logic and types back. _But he’s Draco Malfoy._

_So? You said he’s changed._

Hermione won’t deny that. _You wouldn’t even recognize him._ She sends the text and then types another one with a heavy sigh. _There’s too much history._

_There’s always too much history. The war hasn’t been easy on anyone._ Ginny’s response is quick but Hermione realizes she doesn’t know what she means.

_No, I mean. Too much history – of our own._ She sends it hesitantly. She’s never told anyone about that day in Hogsmeade. It has been their secret.

_Hermione Granger, are you saying what I think you’re saying?_ Hermione can practically hear Ginny’s incredulity.

She types back hurriedly. _It was once!_

_With Draco Malfoy?_

_Once, Ginny!_

_What about Ron?_

_It was before he’d kissed me and told me how he felt._

A few minutes pass, during which Hermione watches the lonely fields whoosh by. Then her phone buzzes again. _So, Draco, huh._

Smiling, she tells Ginny the story _. I was in Hogsmeade and so was he and it was snowing and we were drunk and one thing led to another and before I knew it, we were snuggled into his coat at the bench at the edge of the cliff._

_Did you kiss him?_

_He kissed me_. Hermione smiles at the memory of it. At the time, she had been drunk and hadn’t realized how tenderly he had held her or how gently he’d cupped her face.

_How was it?_

_Pretty much amazing._

_But, how? Draco was an asshole back then, even if he isn’t now._

_I know. But that day, I don’t know. He was actually slightly nice and I think he was going through a_ _lot of shit and it just idk, it just kind of happened._

_But you two hated each other._

_Ever heard of hate sex?_ Hermione laughs as she sends the text.

_You had sex with him?!!_

_NO! No, no I meant it’s a similar principle. Jesus, Ginny._

_Well, look. You wanted my advice. Here it is. We’ve all gone through hell. We’ve lost friends and_ _family and we deserve any chance at happiness that we can get. I’d say go for it. If it works, it works._

Hermione reads the little blue text bubble and can’t help but smile widely. Ginny’s right. They all deserved happiness and Hermione hadn’t felt more happy (if frustrated) since the first few good months with Ron. She types and retypes but sends the fifth version without thinking twice because it feels good to finally admit it. _You’re right. Oh, Ginny. I think I’m falling for Draco Malfoy._

*

Draco Malfoy is idling in the doorway, a suit jacket draped over one arm, straightening his tie with the other. Hermione flicks her wand to straighten it for him and he looks up in surprise. She shrugs and tells him it’s faster that way. “Roses, again?” she asks, hand on the fridge where she keeps them. He nods. “Don’t you ever need flowers in other areas of your life?”

“Well, I don’t believe I have any housewarming parties to attend,” he comes over to lean over the counter, “nor do I have a girlfriend to spoil, and in the past few months, nobody I know has graduated,” he shrugs easily, “so no, I don’t think I need flowers for myself.”

Hermione picks out the nicest roses and laughs. “Snark always was your style.” Then, looking him up and down deliberately, she says, “And housewarming parties are fun. You should give them a chance.” If that doesn’t give him a hint, nothing else will. The ball is in his court now.

“I would if they let me,” he returns, flustering her considerably. She drops the roses she’s been holding and stammers a thanks when he bends down to pick them up for her. _I would let you. Of course I would,_ she wants to say but the words don’t come out.

He lingers a little longer with the payment than usual, but neither of them says anything more on the subject and as he leaves, roses tucked safely under one arm, Hermione watches him, wishing that she had had enough courage to just say something.

*

“Did your boss screw up big time?” she chuckles when he walks in two days later, looking a little nervous. She’s serving someone else and he waits for her to finish before stepping up to the counter.

“What do you mean?” She’s recently added a little barstool to the other side of the counter, for her customers to sit on as they pick their flowers and he gives it a spin before settling down on it, both arms crossed on top of her counter, chin resting at their intersection. He looks up at her questioningly, smiling a little.

“You were here only two days ago,” Hermione points out. “The only reason you’d be here again this early is if your boss screwed up and needs to apologize with flowers. It’s only logical.”

He laughs, raising his head and looking at her in an almost fond manner. “Who says I’m here for my boss?”

“You’re not?” she asks, looking surprised. Her heart gives an involuntary leap and her fingers tighten around her wand, sending a few small sparks shooting out of the tip.

“Not today,” he looks at her expectantly.

“But you do need flowers?” Hermione tilts her head towards the display cases.

“Yes,” he smacks the countertop with his palm and nods. “A small bouquet of whatever you think is the best, please.” Hermione’s heart gives another ridiculous flip.

“Oh,” she waves her wand and some sunflowers and tulips slip out of their cases and lay themselves neatly down on the counter. “You don’t want any say in what goes in the bouquet?” she clarifies, hands hovering over their stems.

He shakes his head, “I don’t know much about flowers. But could I have a card in the meanwhile?”

_A card?_ Hermione thinks, looking up. His face is impassive and she can’t tell what he’s thinking. She points towards a little basket near the door and says, “Take your pick.”

She finishes the bouquet in silence as he scribbles a message in the card, slips it into its envelope and licks it close. She can’t help but wonder who it’s for. A little part of her is almost certain it’s for her. Who else could it be? But if it _is_ for her, why would he go to the trouble of writing out a card? She was right there – couldn’t he have just said it in person? He interrupts this train of thought when he hands her the little envelope. She tucks it into the paper and gives him a pained smile, pushing it towards him.

He hesitates and she waits with bated breath. “Actually,” he starts, scratching the back of his head, “Could you hold it for me until later tonight? I’ll pick it up before your shop closes.”

“Yes, of course, um, we close at six,” she tells him, fully expecting him to start laughing and tell her it’s actually for her. He doesn’t do anything of the sort, though, just hops off the barstool, gives her a little nod of thanks and turns to leave. She keeps staring at his back, just waiting for him to turn around and say that this is just one big joke, of course the flowers are for her. But the bell tinkles and then he’s gone. Hermione feels numb.

*

The little bouquet of sunflowers and tulips sits in the back of the cooler for two days before Hermione gets tired of waiting. The flowers have wilted and look pathetic and she’s about to toss them in the trash can when she notices the little envelope poking out of the paper. Considering he never came to pick them up, Hermione supposes she has every right to find out who they were for. She plucks the brown envelope from it and throws the flowers away.

Ripping off the edge of the envelope, she takes out the card that he had picked from the basket at her counter. It’s one of the simple ones with just a flower on it, no greeting. Biting down on her lip, she opens it hesitantly.

_Hermione,_

_If you don’t open this, well then, I guess I’m a fool and my grand romantic gesture didn’t work. If you did open it, then I guess what I’m trying to ask you is whether you’d be willing to give us a chance. I know I’m not the best man, but if you feel what I feel, I believe something can happen._

_Dinner at Alfred’s, next Sunday at 8 p.m.?_

_Draco Malfoy._

Hermione stares at the card, fingers trembling slightly. Draco had asked her out. Draco had _asked her out_. She had been right. The flowers _had_ been for her after all. She can’t stop smiling as she re-reads the short note again and again.

Scrambling for her phone, she calls up Ginny.

“Hey, babe, what’s up?” Hermione can hear the children crying in the background and she knows Ginny must be busy so she blurts out her news immediately.

“He asked me out.”

“He did? Oh my god, what did you say?” Ginny cries.

“I haven’t said anything yet because he didn’t ask me in person,” Hermione replies, reading the card again because she just can’t get enough of it.

“Well, what are you _going_ to say then?”

“I think yes?” Hermione squeezes her eyes close and laughs.

“That’s amazing!” Ginny sounds genuinely happy and Hermione feels a sudden burst of warmth towards her best friend.

“I know. Thanks, Ginny.”

*

In the five seconds it takes for Draco to enter the shop and walk up to the counter, Hermione decides she’s gonna play it dumb and make him work for it. Keeping her tone neutral she asks, “The usual?”

Draco looks distracted and for a second, doesn’t reply. Hermione supresses her glee and resists the urge to just shout yes and go up and hug him. “Oh, yeah. Of course,” he says, in a preoccupied manner as he glances swiftly around the shop a few times, probably looking for any sign of that bouquet he indirectly got her.

“You never came back for your bouquet that day,” Hermione says, bundling up his flowers.

He looks at her then and his expression is one of regret and apprehension. “I know. I’m so sorry. Did you throw them out?” He looks around again and then adds, “The whole thing?”

“Of course. Flowers don’t last very long, you know,” Hermione tells him. She reaches for the paper and expertly folds it around the stems.

“Oh, yes. You’re right.”

“Big day?” She asks as he taps his fingers on the countertop nervously.

He looks at her again, distracted. “Huh?”

“You’re wearing a new shirt and your tie is done up real fancy,” she observes. Draco looks down at himself and then back at her. He’s almost dying to say something and Hermione knows it.

“Listen,” he finally says.

“Yes?” she asks.

“Do you have any plans on Sunday?”

“Are you asking me out?” she arches an eyebrow as she rings up his purchase.

“I might be,” he shrugs, his voice losing some of its nervousness and his face becoming more determined and less distracted.

“Well, I’m sorry but Sunday’s busy for me,” Hermione tells him, feeling a little pang of guilt as his face falls.

“Oh.”

“I have a date, actually,” she continues, and he looks away. She grins. “He’s kinda nice but I don’t know – he didn’t even have the courage to ask me out in person,” she waves her arms about in mock-annoyance, “so, you know.”

Draco looks back at her suspiciously. “How did he ask you out?” Hermione is still grinning as she puts the flowers in front of him.

“On a card,” she admits cheekily and her stomach is suddenly full of one million butterflies as a bright grin spreads over Draco’s face.

He rushes around the counter and gathers her up in his arms before she can even react. “Damnit, woman, couldn’t you have lead with that?” he asks in a low voice, punctuating each word with a kiss. Hermione laughs, squirming a little in his grip, and weaves her fingers into his hair, looking smug.

“How would that have been any fun?” she tilts her head at him as he looks at her with the brightest eyes she’s ever seen. He grins too and pulls her even closer.

Then, after a minute, he looks at her earnestly and clears his throat. “Hermione.”

“Yes, Draco?” she asks, slipping her hands down to his shoulders and locking them at the nape of his neck.

“Go out with me?” he asks, trying to keep a straight face. Hermione pretends to think about it for a full minute before answering him with another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> can you spot the reference to another otp we both share? ;)


End file.
